Of Crimson Capes and Brass Claws
by houseprodigy
Summary: Everyone Cloud knew kept dying...it seemed there was no end to it. Vincent is temporarily misplaced. VincentCloud. Rated M for graphic language and possible yaoi. Written also by Daylight Robbery. Reviews appreciated.
1. Objects and Memories

**It was a weird thing…a friend of mine and I were IMing one day and she brought up the fact that Cloud looks like he has Vincent's cape and claw in Kingdom Hearts. I thought about it and was like, "Wow…he does…weird." And she got to wondering how it was he got that way in the first place when ZING! It happened. I was like, "Great story idea!" and so we decided to do it. Basically, we kind of alternate chapters, but most of Vincent's behavior will be totally her fault, while I get to use Cloud as my own personal puppet. (holds back evil laugh)**

**Anyway, that's what's going down in Chinatown. And now for the traditional disclaimer:**

**Disclaimer: Neither myself nor my colleague own any of the characters from FFVII mentioned in this story. Between the two of us, we have two video games, two copies of the same movie, a wall scroll, a wooden shuriken, and our own twisted fantasies. That is all we own. Sad, but true. Enjoy!**

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Cloud sat in the corner of a dimly-lit room, slumped against the wall with one knee to his chest. Across from him was a small bed and bedside table. The room was almost barren, save for a few strategically-placed items. His buster sword leaned against the wall next to the bed, just close enough for him to grab if he should be attacked unexpectedly. On the bed was a small knapsack containing a few of his personal items.

He sighed and lifted himself up onto his feet, lethargically making his way over to the bed. He sat on the bed and reached for the bag, pulling it onto his lap. He opened it carefully, as if it was something fragile and precious that could easily shatter in his hands. He pulled a thin strip of soft pink ribbon from it, threading the ribbon through his fingers thoughtfully. He ran his thumb over the ribbon once more before tying it to his arm and turning his attention back over to the sack before him.

Reaching in, the blond pulled out a set of clothes: a navy-colored turtleneck and large navy pants. Though he no longer wore the clothing, he could remember the day he acquired them like it had happened the day before. It no longer plagued his dreams as it once had, but the wound still felt raw. He looked at his sword leaning against the wall, remembering the one it reminded him of still stuck in the ground somewhere.

He set the clothes aside and reached into the bag again, this time leaving his hand in the bag, as if he was unwilling to remove the remaining items. After a few moments, he slowly withdrew an arm-like brass gauntlet with a claw hand and a large, very worn, crimson-colored cloak. An audible sigh left his mouth; this time, it was closely followed by a single tear down the side of his face. He bit his lip and stared at the articles for some time before speaking.

"Vincent," he said gently, as if saying the name alone was a task of great difficulty. He placed the items back into the sack, all except the red cloak, which he held close as he sprawled out on the bed. He ran his hand over it gently, closing his eyes as if to remember something. He opened his eyes and drew his brows together.

"Just another ghost to follow me around." he remarked sounding almost bitter. The once-hero's disposition went from anger to grief in a matter of seconds as he struggled to contain a sob, causing his body to shake violently. A tight knot formed in his stomach and he curled up in the fetal position, burying his tear-stained face into the rough, heavy fabric of the cape-like object. His breathing became slower and more shallow as he fell asleep, his last thoughts before succumbing to exhaustion being the last words he'd spoken to his fallen comrade, right before his passing.

_"No Vincent, you can't…no…this isn't fair. Everyone I've ever loved has died. Being around me will…kill you."_


	2. No Stops

**Gah, another chapter down. I'm pretty sure the first one just sounded like some lame one-shot with a weird ending, but this chapter should help things a bit…I hope. Reviews might actually make Cloud less angsty. So how 'bout it? I promise the chapters will get longer. It's just hard to write a million pages with just one character so early in a story, ya know?**

**Disclaimer: Two words: not mine. Not the characters, or the neat little names…the idea isn't even really mine. Well, it was, but it wasn't. I share a brain with my counterpart writer, who will be thrilled to know that it is her turn to write. She's getting really impatient. Again, not mine.**

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Cloud woke up feeling exhausted, despite the fact that he'd been sleeping for…he rolled over and checked the small digital clock on the bedside table. Fourteen hours. Somehow, it still didn't seem like enough. It would never be enough. The only kind of sleep he wanted was the kind that lasted forever. He wanted the kind that would allow him to see Vincent again, so they could be like they had been once before. He knew that could never happen, no matter what he did. He'd let too many people down. He'd let the most important people in his life die, beginning with his mother…then Zack…the members of AVALANCHE…Aerith…

And now Vincent. He shook his head. Everyone he got even remotely close too seemed to die off in the end, which was why he traveled alone. Tifa had protested, but he wouldn't allow her to come along. No, he wouldn't let her die too. He'd rather be alone than let any more of his friends perish. Of course, they'd tried to contact him, but he wouldn't answer his phone. For all he knew, just keeping contact could be their undoing. He was just better off alone.

The blond stretched out, extending his legs to make sure he hadn't let them become cramped again. That tended to happen when he slept curled up like that, but he couldn't help it. He knew it was stupid, sleeping with the ragged article of clothing, but it was all he had left of his lover, and it was the only thing that got him through the nights anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see him…his deep red irises changing color as his eyes began to gloss over. The way his mouth turned upwards in an attempt to smile one last time, for Cloud's sake.

Why in the Hell did they always have to _smile_? Zack had smiled, had made him make that promise…what would he think of Cloud now? Would he pity him now? Would be he embarrassed? Ashamed at the failure Cloud had suffered? The blond shook his head. Zack couldn't think. He was gone, just like all the others, his face nothing more than a fading image in the back of Cloud's mind, coming out only to haunt his dreams, transforming them into nightmares.

Cloud sighed, sitting up and folding the red cloak in neat folds, as if it really mattered. The thing never got any creases, miraculously. Still, he cherished it like the memories he had of Vincent. They were both precious things, and were also a couple of the very few things he had left. What he really wanted were dreams of the raven-haired man who had been with him but a mere month before. He wanted to dream of how things had been and what they'd shared. All he got were nightmares, and never the same ones. They seemed to go in cycles. The only thing they had in common was that in the end, someone he cared about died, when he should have instead.

It was never going to end for him. The shootings, the impalements…trouble just followed him. So, the only thing for the once-great hero to do was to keep moving. With that thought, Cloud gathered the last of his things, walked down the stairs, and out the inn door. Though he was unsure of where he was headed, he was sure of one thing: he could never stop. Stopping meant death, and it was never his.

"_Being around me will…kill you."_


	3. Dead People Don't Breathe

**DR: Wheeeee! It's my turn! I probably would have written this sooner, but I hadn't seen that House said it was my turn in the second chapter. She didn't bother to tell me either, haha. So here I've been sitting, doing NOTHING, while I keep loyal fans waiting. Pssh. Not really. Well, not yet actually. We need groupies. **

**Disclaimer: Neither I nor House own any of this except the idea. Although it would be nice if we owned more. How much do you think we'd have to offer before Tet forked over the rights? It's all good in the hood though, we get to play with them as much as we want. XD **

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"_History has a tendency to repeat itself." _

"_Yes, and sometimes to the exactness where it gets frightening." _

A small quivering tremor that started at the base of his chest snaked upward, zapping up his spine and arcing over his scalp. There was a pause, as if the tremor was trying to create some suspense for what was going to happen next, and warmth flooded his whole body. He knew this feeling... being brought back from the abyss...

Being brought back to life.

The quiet darkness had been peaceful. It was the rest he'd been seeking but never acquired in his search. Atonement. Closure. But something was wrong. A deep unwillingness to accept what had happened stirred within him. He'd done something he never wanted to do to that one person that made him complete.

He was dead.

The first breath he took was deep and it ached.

_Dead people don't breathe. _

"Vincent."

He knew that voice. Even if it had been for only a short while, he would never forget it.

Mako-bright eyes fluttered open to meet a blank white sky. He didn't want to sit up and look, but he knew he was laying in a bed of flowers. That prospect was unsettling. The white and yellow flowers that inhabited the Sector 5 church had the same faint lilting scent that these did. Those flowers represented Aerith. And she was dead.

"Vincent."

He still didn't look in the direction of the voice. He was lost. The people that were close to Cloud who had died plagued him with nightmares. That was the last thing he wanted to do. If he had to die, why couldn't he just be gone? Why did memory have to linger, when moving on would be best?

A hand waved in front of his face slowly, like one would when trying to get your attention.

"Hey, Vince. Stop thinking so hard."

That wasn't Aerith. It was a male voice, friendly and warm.

The realization hit him hard.

He really was dead.

_Dead people don't breathe. _


	4. Just A Little Longer

**House: Alas, another chapter down, and not one that came easily. Try fighting the onslaught of writer's clot as well as read Plato's _Republic_ sometime. I'm beginning to think I'm going to be as mad as Hojo one of these days. Anyway, I never beg for anything, but reviews would be loverly. In fact, I'm sure DR and I would go on a read-and-review spree for anyone who would be so kind as to give us an opinion. We really don't know if we're doing something wrong unless we're told. I tried to be psychic once, but the closest I came to obtaining ESP was when I got it on my portable CD player years ago (ESP: Electronic Skip Protection, for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about).**

**Disclaimer: We own nothing. In fact, we so own nothing that this idea is about to grow legs and run away from us. Help us by reviewing so we can trade awesome comments for a leash to keep it from escaping.**

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"_Cloud…"_

"_Sssh…don't speak. Don't waste energy on things you can say later."_

_There was a silence between the two men as Cloud held Vincent tightly, wondering when help would arrive, and where their assailants had run off to. Wherever it was, it wasn't going to be far enough, when he was done with them. They would live to regret their mistake. He looked back down at the dark-haired fighter, fighting to appear like he wasn't troubled by the stain that was starting to show on Vincent's chest, despite the dark coloring of his clothes. It wasn't quite large enough to cause great concern, and Vincent had always been resilient, so the blond wasn't too worried…not just yet. He knew that with time, the wound could become more severe, which was why he was anxious to get Vincent healed._

_He mentally cursed himself for the thousandth time for not bringing any potions or healing materia with him. They had just gone out for a simple drive, so he didn't think that there was any reason for the precautions._

_He smoothed hair away from Vincent's forehead. Panic suddenly started to set in. Vincent was pale…even for him. On top of that, he was cool to the touch. That couldn't be a good sign. Infection, maybe? No, the abnormal amounts of mako in his system wouldn't allow for that to happen. So, if that wasn't it, what could it be?_

_Cloud looked at Vincent, who was starting to drift off. He nudged the pale man just a bit, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him to keep him awake. The crimson eyes opened slightly, looking over to meet Cloud's cerulean blue eyes, glazed over with concern._

"_I need you to stay awake just a little longer until help gets here, okay?" Cloud asked softly, as one would when attempting to bargain with a small child. "Just a bit longer. I called in awhile ago, so it shouldn't be much longer. Just stay with me until then. Then you can rest."_

"_Cloud?" Vincent asked quietly, his voice quivering in a way that Cloud had never heard before, and it frightened him._

"_Yeah?"_

"_I'm cold."_

Cloud woke with a start. The bumps on his flesh were raised and a chill shot down his spine. He looked across the room to see that the window was open. He hadn't distinctly remembered leaving it open, but he quickly shrugged the thought away. Rolling out of bed, he crossed the room and closed the window, latching it shut. Rubbing his arms, he went back to the bed, spreading out amongst the scattered covers.

"Another dream…," he said mildly, as if his heart hadn't been threatening to bust through his ribcage just a few minutes earlier. He sighed and began to stare at the beige ceiling above. The inn he decided to stay in was nicer than the last one he'd been in, but somehow, he thought that the other room had been more fitting. It had been bare, the walls a boring off-white color and simple white blinds covered the windows. The room he was in was filled with decorative objects, like framed pictures of scenery and fine dark drapes that hung from large brass rods above the windows.

In a way, it was kind of symbolic, the difference between the two rooms. The first room was empty, like his life was now. The second was more like the way life was before Vincent had left: beautiful and comforting. How he wished he could do something to bring the light back into life, or to take what dull light he had left and put it out forever.

Yes, that was what he wanted. To put the light out. Somehow, losing everything repeatedly made that light not worth having, even if it had made things better. Those people with the light had just come into his life without warning, leaving in the same way they came, but taking something with them. A piece of Cloud had gone with them. Just when he thought there was nothing left to give, someone else would come in and take a little more, usually that little more that he hadn't even known he had. Perhaps they just built what little he had so they had more to take.

The blond groaned and rubbed his eyes. He was thinking way too much. The nightmares weren't causing his insomnia; his brain was working overtime, and it was killing him slowly.

_What a nice thought, _he mused. _If only my brain would just implode now, then I could finally just be done with all of it and not have to worry anymore._

As the orange light from the sun crept over the horizon, he suddenly got the feeling that no such thing was going to happen to him anytime soon. He just wasn't that lucky. Besides, he didn't really want to go. Not just yet. There was still the little matter of finding the people who had taken Vincent from him. He had to pay them a visit. Then he could finally rest, once and for all.

"_Just a little longer…"_


	5. Almost, but Not Quite

**DR: Oy. Must write. Much thanks to AFI's "Silver and Cold", as that song helped me write this chapter. I don't know why we're telling this story backwards, but if House writes anymore for Vinnie-chan, I'll be sad. :( **

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. This story isn't going anywhere, House, as I have a nail gun. XD**

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"_Bingo," the redheaded Turk said quietly to himself as he cocked the rifle. Laying on his stomach atop a rocky outcropping in the huge dead space between Midgar and the rest of the world, he watched with binoculars as a small object kicking dust up in the distance grew larger. A whole week of spying and tracking and this was it._

_He didn't think about that day very much. The day when he had done this very same thing to a yellow truck making its way through this same wasteland. When he saw he'd missed his original target, he fired several more shots into Zack and left when he assumed they were both dead. He had half-assed the job to the power of ten, and now he had to do it all over again. If only he had done it right the first time. But then again, if he had done it right the first time Sephiroth would have destroyed the Planet and used it for his own sick plans. Those members of AVALANCHE wouldn't have succeeded without Cloud. _

_Reno sighed. Everything happened for a reason. And as he looked into his binoculars again, he realized he needed to stop thinking or he would miss his chance. Rufus was paying him a king's ransom to do this, particularly because no one else wanted to take up the task. You had to have pretty much no conscience to do something as ruthless and cruel as this, and Reno was one of the most conscience-less people in the whole Shinra corporation. _

_Bringing the sniper rifle up, he found his target in the scope and followed it until it was within range. Rufus wanted this kid dead bad. If you can't get them to help you rebuild SOLDIER, kill them, right? As Reno followed the motorcycle with the scope, he saw that the dark-haired man clinging to Cloud had his head turned in the direction he was. What was worse, he had his gun drawn too. He wasn't expecting the gunman to be armed. Silly him. _

_Reno had no idea what range that thing had, and he started to panic. How in the hell could Vincent have seen him? Frantically trying to line up the reticle with Vincent's head, his finger slipped and he pulled the trigger. As a bullet hissed past him too close for comfort, he knew for sure he hadn't hit the gunman. He fired blind again, praying he'd at least hit one of them. Another bullet was fired in exchange and this time it didn't miss him. _

"_Fuck!" Reno yelled, gritting his teeth at the burning pain that was tearing through his left arm. _

_Out of anger and pain, Reno lined up the reticle as carefully as his shaking and bleeding body would allow, although the pair was almost out of sight. He squeezed the trigger and watched Vincent go down._

_Reno hadn't brought anything with him other than his gun, a few bullets, and binoculars. His arm was bleeding badly and the pain was starting to wear on him. He didn't know if he'd shot Vincent fatally or not, but it didn't matter. He hadn't brought enough ammunition to get the job done. Taking his jacket off and wrapping his arm with it, he gathered his effects and disappeared. _

_It was just another job he'd half-assed._

"I really am dead." Vincent said to no one in particular. The statement wasn't a question. He didn't turn to look at the two people who were standing over him.

_Dead people don't breathe. _


	6. Lost in Thought

**House: Oh dear, seems as if I've overstepped my boundaries. Well, one can't really try to reveal background while moving in the present while not stepping over some lines. Truth is, not everything goes exactly chronological, and to get the workings of the inner mind of someone such as Cloud, who is obviously engrossed with his past, you have to have something to go on. But I'll consider that a slap on the hand and try not to do it again. At least, not without proper supervision.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not hers. I guess a nail gun would work to keep the story in place, but the only problem with that is the possibility of killing it by getting trigger-happy. To avoid possible casualty, feed story with reviews please. It would make me happy, and it would keep DR's proverbial nail gun in its holster…if they make holsters for nail guns. Maybe they do…hmmm…**

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Cloud always found solace in the rain. Perhaps it was because the rain reminded him of Aerith. He wasn't sure. Sometimes, when it rained, he could almost feel her with him, consoling him and guiding him through whatever it was he needed to do. The thought was comforting.

_I don't deserve that comfort_, he thought sullenly, dismounting from Fenrir and walking into yet another inn. Part of him wanted to sleep outside, in the falling liquid precipitation, but another part of him, the logical part still hanging on by a mere thread, told him that he shouldn't stay out in the cold. He would surely catch pneumonia or something.

It wasn't like he didn't want to. He partially thought he deserved some kind of suffering, other than the insomnia that had recently plagued him for the past couple of days.

The nightmares were getting worse. It was almost as if they didn't wait for him to fall asleep, instead choosing to play from the inside of his eyelids whenever he closed them. Squeezing his eyes shut didn't help; it only gave him a headache. He could never succeed in blocking out all the bad thoughts that arose in his mind.

The blond ignored the throbbing in his head as he stepped up to the front desk, registered for a room, and the paid the innkeeper. Sack of personal effects already in hand, he silently ascended the stairs, step by lamentable step. Finally reaching the room, he set his sack beside the bed and removed his sword, leaning it against the wall. He looked around, examining his surroundings.

_Another listless night_, he thought, causing himself to wonder just when he'd started saying words like "listless."

The same name that had been bothering him since that horrible day hit him like one of those high-speed freight train back in Midgar.

Vincent. He'd probably been listening to Vincent talk for too long, and had somehow started speaking as eloquently as he did. Cloud smiled briefly as he remembered how the dark-haired man had sounded when talking to him about something…anything…just the low-pitched sound of the gunman's voice was enough to turn him inside out.

The blond sighed and started chewing on his lower lip, trying to think of something other than his dead lover for once. He vaguely wondered how everyone else was doing. Maybe he'd even call one of these days, just to check in. He knew he'd sleep easier just knowing that the others were okay. Of course, he wouldn't say anything when he called, just hanging on the line long enough to catch a snippet of a recognizable voice before hanging up.

Of course, Tifa would be expecting that. She always seemed to know when he called, even without checking the caller ID. He even remembered picking up the phone once, getting ready to do a call-and-hang-up check, when his cell rang and sure enough, Tifa was on the other end. He hadn't actually been thinking straight when he'd answered his phone. It was something he rarely did, usually when he was too caught up in something to really pay attention.

He smirked. Good thing it was only calls that caught him off-guard. Of course, sometimes the calls were just as painful as getting shot or stabbed…even to the point where he wished someone had come along and wounded him, just to save him from the affliction apparent in Tifa's voice.

He knew he hurt her, as much as he tried not to. For some reason, no matter what he did, he was always hurting someone. Tifa had said that it would be all too easy for him to come back to Seventh Heaven, maybe get some work, try to patch things up.

But, as much as he did miss being in the company of his friends, he wouldn't dare go back. The thought that something could happen to one of them on his account was too much to bear, and was far worse than him not answering their calls.

Sure, Yuffie's calls had a tendency to bug him more and more, as she had a bad habit of calling in spurts and clogging up his voicemail, and he often found him chest aching after one of the kids would call…

In fact, Denzel sounded older and older every time he'd leave a message. Part of Cloud wanted to call and make sure he was being good and taking care of Marlene and Tifa, but that would sound too much like something a parent would do. Despite his deep affection for both children, he could hardly think of them as his own.

Cloud yawned, making him painfully aware of just how tired he was. Fatigue was a funny thing. It snuck up on you when you least expected it to. He stretched out and laid on the bed, extending his legs out for a change, instead of sleeping curled up like a frightened animal. Surprisingly, sleep came easy for the blond as he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep, uninterrupted by nightmares or his own subconscious.


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